


want. take. have.

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not a brat. He's just used to getting what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	want. take. have.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: Dick Grayson/Damian Wayne, Damian is technically underage when they start dating. 
> 
> Damian is 17 in this.

Damian’s not _spoiled._ He’s just never had to want for anything. For Christmas, his mother once gave him his own island. His father is...less generous, but still he has any and everything at his disposal. He is not a brat -- brats are sticky, whiny, petulant children, and occasionally a certain purple-clad Batgirl. He is simply used to getting what he wants. 

He wants something, he takes it. Or in this case, some _one_. 

 

***

He tells himself he’s doing it mostly out of necessity. He’s a teenager. He’s aware of biology and hormones and he’s also aware that staring at the obscene way Grayson’s suit hugs every plane of muscle on his ridiculous body when they’re meant to be working a case is hazardous to both of their healths. So he makes up his mind and he makes a plan.

 

***

 

He’s _not_ a brat, but when Grayson doesn’t respond the way he expects him to, Damian can almost see the merit in tantrums. 

 

***

“I fail to see the pertinence of our age difference, Grayson.”

Dick chokes on his sandwich. The corners of Alfred’s mouth twitch, but he excuses himself from the kitchen, citing some sort of paperwork he needs Bruce to sign before heading out for the night. 

“One, can you maybe not bring this up around Alfred--”

“Why?”

Dick sets his sandwich down. “Because he could tell your father and I kind of like being alive, currently. And two, it’s not about our age difference, Damian. You’re _seventeen._ It would be _illegal._ ”

“Tt,” Damian replies. “Vigilantism is illegal.” 

“Yes, but--”

“The Batmobile travels upward of two hundred miles per hour. That’s not legal. And I’m pretty sure operating a flying car powered by jet fuel within the city limits is also illegal.”

“But--”

“Todd _killed_ people and we sprung him out of jail.”

“I know, but--”

“ _I_ killed someone.”

“ _Once_.”

“That you know of.”

“ _Damian._ ”

“YOUR ARGUMENT IS INVALID, GRAYSON.” Damian slams his fist on the table and stands up, storming out of the kitchen. 

Tantrums, as it turns out, are pretty damn satisfying. 

 

***

 

“What--” Dick stops mid-stride as Damian starts peeling off his uniform in the middle of the cave. The words get caught in his mouth as his gaze lingers on Damian’s broad, tanned shoulders, the way the muscles in his back flex and move as he shrugs out of the Robin costume. He clears his throat. “What are you doing?”

“Possible radiation leak,” Damian says, stepping out of the suit and disposing of it in the proper bin, walking right up to Dick wearing only a pair of very tiny, very tight boxer briefs. He pokes a finger right into Dick’s chest and smirks.

“I always get what I want, Grayson. Don’t make me play dirty.” He says and walks off, far too gracefully for someone so tall and broad. And those shorts fit his ass like a _glove._

Dick gives himself a pass for staring, because really, who _wouldn’t_? He never claimed to be a saint. 

 

***

 

Unfortunately, Damian had not been bluffing when he threatened to play dirty. 

“When,” Dick swallows thickly, in serious danger of falling off the ledge he’s perched on as he watches the Blow-Pop slip out of Damian’s mouth. “-- did you start eating candy? You hate candy.”

Damian just shrugs. “It’s not bad.” Dick has to remind himself that the little shit has the best poker face in the damn world. He watches Damian swirl his tongue around it then hold it out to Dick. “Would you like a taste?”

Dick stares at the sucker, then back at Damian’s mouth, all bright red and sticky with sugar. It probably tastes like cherries. “Tim was right,” he says, a little strained, forcing himself to lift the binoculars back up to his face. “You are evil.”

 

***

 

“He’s being hghly illogical,” Damian says as his foot connects with the assailants head. “What will be different in seven months? It’s not as if there’s some new, magical knowledge I will suddenly gain on the day I turn eighteen.”

“I dunno, man, ” Jason says, taking two creeps down with a rusty pipe he found lying around. “Dick used to be a cop. Guess he’s got hang-ups about that kind of stuff, you know? You try the lollipop thing?”

“Yes. I thought it seemed effective at first. He looked like he was going to have an aneurysm, but no dice.”

‘That’s rough, kid.”

Damian accidentally on purpose misses his mark and throws his elbow back into Jason’s ribs instead. “Do not call me kid.”

 

***

 

As much as he is loathe to admit it, especially given recent events, Damian _is_ a teenager -- a teenage boy -- and with that comes certain needs. Needs he usually takes care of in the shower, a place he’s fairly certain his father doesn’t have bugged, but when he gets home from patrolling with Dick one morning that’s not what he wants. He wants to strip down, stretch out on his huge, soft bed, close his eyes and imagine it’s Grayson’s hand around him instead of his own. 

He’s almost there, toes curled, hips bucking off the bed, when Grayson plows straight into his room without knocking. If he had been thinking clearly he would have locked the door, but as it was he had really only had one thing on his mind at the time. Besides, this could prove to work to his advantage. 

“Oh god,” Dick groans and covers his face. “Sorry. I’m, god, I’m sorry. Should’ve knocked.”

Damian glances up at Grayson’s hands, bites his lip, and comes all over his stomach. 

 

***

 

When all that does is cause Grayson to be even more flustered and skittish around him, Damian decides it’s time to try a different tactic. This one was Brown’s idea, so he’ll blame her if it backfires. 

“Haven’t seen you around much lately,” Dick says, leaning back in his chair as Damian walks through the cave headed for his bike. “Got a girlfriend or something?”

“Something,” Damian smirks and pulls his helmet on. “Later, Grayson. Don’t wait up.”

It’s only a few hours before Damian catches the swift blur of blue and black out of the corner of his eye. 

“Showtime,” He says. “Sure you’re okay with this?”

Colin shrugs, gives him a crooked grin. “It’s what bros are for, right?” Then he’s hooking his thumb into Damian’s belt loops and tugging him forward. Damian’s hand falls against the brick behind Colin’s head. It’s a bit weird kissing him and he’s starting to develop a little bit of a conscience about the situation when --

“You boys really shouldn’t be in this neighborhood at this time of night.”

Colin grins when Damian pulls away, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sure thing, Nightwing.” Damian gives him a look that he hopes passes for grateful as Colin pulls his hoodie up and walks away, leaving the two of them alone. Damian spins around to face Dick. 

“You know good and well Colin and I can take care of--”

Dick grabs him by his coat and hauls Damian up against him, glaring at him for a moment before he leans forward and covers Damian’s mouth with his, kissing him slow and deep and Damian maybe makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat when it's over too soon. 

“You know, making me compromise my own morals by trying to make me jealous is a really childish thing to do. You’re not really helping your case here.”

“Says the guy who just had his tongue halfway down my throat." Damian says and shrugs. "Desperate measures." He reaches up and cups the back of Dick’s neck to drag him back down for another kiss. “I told you I always get what I want.”

Dick pauses an inch away from Damian's mouth. “You are such a brat.”

"I accept that."

 

***

 

The way Steph is staring at the fruit basket on her kitchen table you would think it was a bomb. Damian sent her a _fruit basket._ It might _be_ a bomb. At least that would make sense.

"Oh just open it, jesus," Jason says from the couch and Steph sticks her tongue out at him. 

"Fine, but Tim's my witness. If we blow up its your fault." She plucks the card from the side of the basket, slides it out of its tiny envelope and grins. 

_Brown,_

_You have proven yourself more competent than Todd. Congratulations._

_Also thank you._

_Stop making that face, it’s terrible._

_-D_


End file.
